


Wine and Pine

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clint Barton Bingo, Clint Barton Feels, Deaf Clint Barton, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Marriage, Fraction's Hawkeye, Honeymoon, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Touch-Starved, pining!Clint, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: If Fury wanted to pay out the nose for Clint and Bucky to pretend to be newlyweds and drink fancy wine, that was on him. Clint would have been just as okay to lurk on rooftops and eat protein bars for the duration of McNabb’s protection detail, but he wasn’t one to say no to free gourmet food.The pretending to be in love with Bucky thing hit a little too close to home though.





	Wine and Pine

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Clint Barton Bingo](http://clintbartonbingo.tumblr.com). Square filled: honeymoon.
> 
> Thanks to the MCU Bad Decisions Buddies for the title. Not beta'ed. 
> 
> Find me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)

Clint was going to implode.

There was no way he was going to get through the mission. Not a chance in hell. He should call it in, get Steve to take over – the front desk still probably wouldn’t notice the tall blond dude in the honeymoon suite had beefed up a bit, right? Clint had kept his sunglasses on while checking in and there were how many blond guys the resort staff saw every day?

It would be that easy.

He fiddled with his phone as he sat on the edge of the king-sized bed. Nat would never let him hear the end of it. He hadn’t tapped out on a mission voluntarily since what? Cleveland in ’08?

The shower turned off behind the closed washroom door and Clint could hear Bucky at the sink. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy his missions with Bucky – or their free time together, for that matter – it was that he was absolutely incapable of spending an extended amount of time in close proximity with the man.

Back at the compound, it was no big deal. Clint could make the excuse of needing to take Lucky out for a walk if he needed a breather, but here there was no opportunity to grab any kind of personal space.

His thumb lingered over the speed dial for Steve on the burner phone. Captain Fucking America wouldn’t judge him for needing to swap out, would he?

The door to the washroom opened and it was too late anyway. Bucky emerged from the cloud of steam in a towel riding low on sharply defined hipbones as he ran a comb through his long hair.

Clint’s mouth went dry.

Bucky himself was oblivious to Clint’s torment. He yawned sleepily, using his teeth to pull the elastic band off his wrist and then deftly pulled his hair back into a low ponytail.

“You sleep okay?”

About seventeen minutes total and fighting a semi the entire time. “Yeah, man, thanks for not snoring or kicking me too hard,” Clint said, thankfully used to the easy lie.

Bucky smirked and padded over to his suitcase, pulling out a clean pair of briefs and a pair of sinfully threadbare jeans.

Clint knew exactly which ones they were. The faded denim was ripped at one knee and the hems were in tatters, the waistband itself close to falling apart. They’d once been Clint’s favourite pair and had seen way too much action in his day, and he wasn’t honestly sure how they hadn’t just fallen apart yet.

Now they belonged to Bucky, given as an olive branch shortly after Bucky had joined the team. Bucky had constantly complained that he had hated breaking in the new jeans Steve had bought him, how they chafed and rubbed and how overprocessed the material was.

Seeing Bucky in his old jeans for the first time had been like a sledgehammer hit to the gut. Clint had simply stared, brain unable to process words outside of caveman-esque sentences. He’d managed to not spout off “fire bad; Bucky hot,” and if Bucky had noticed the effect the jeans had on Clint, he hadn’t said anything.

Clint kept their hangouts short on the days Bucky wore those jeans.

Today though, there was no escaping them. Bucky dropped his towel and Clint forced himself to look away before his brain short-circuited. The man had absolutely no qualms about nudity, either part of his Hydra conditioning or leftover from the Army or even just a weird original Bucky Barnes quirk, and it wasn’t the first time Clint had gotten an accidental eyeful and new material for his mental filing cabinet of spank bank material.

“So, McNabb’s schedule has them going out to that little café for lunch, y’remember the one you said you wanted to check out yesterday?”

Clint remembered. The coffee had smelled absolutely orgasmic as they had walked by, almost enough to distract him from the heat of Bucky’s hand in his own.

He glanced back over at Bucky, clearing his throat awkwardly as he tried not to notice how well Bucky’s thighs filled out the thin denim of the jeans. “Yeah, great, I uh… I could definitely use some coffee,” he mumbled.

Frowning, Bucky walked over to stand in front of him, the flat planes of his abdomen right at eye level. Clint fought back the urge to drag his tongue across them.

“You sure you slept all right, pal?” Bucky asked, muscles flexing as he pulled the shirt over his head. His abs were hidden from view once more, granting Clint a blessed reprieve.

Clint blinked up at him, studying the way Bucky’s mouth had set into a concerned frown. “Yeah, as much as I could with you being a bed hog. How’s a little guy like you take up that much space in a king, anyway?” he replied, forcing his usual grin onto his face.

“You’re a fuckin’ delight in the morning,” Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes and sitting next to Clint to pull on his shoes. “Now I know why we never see you until noon most days.”

“Look, just because you and Steve are weirdos and like to exercise and shit at the ass crack of dawn…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen Steve pout? It’s like kicking a fuckin’ dog. He gets worse puppy eyes than Lucky for Chrissake.”

Clint laughed, knowing all too well how much of a manipulative little shit Steve Rogers could be. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and stood, doing a quick pat down of the various knives stashed on his person.

He could handle three more days of the mission. Less than that, even, if Hydra decided to make their move on McNabb early.

Was it wrong to hope they were quick about assassination attempts?

Bucky flipped a knife absently before tucking it into a sheath at his belt. His vibranium arm was disguised as a regular prosthetic, a glove covering his left hand to draw less attention to it. The cover was stiff, clearly uncomfortable and affecting his usual range of motion but Bucky wore it with not much more than a grimace.

They left the suite, standing in silence in the elevator as Clint’s heart rate began to rise once more.

_Suck it up, Barton. You’ve been fake married to Nat plenty of times. Just don’t think with your dick and everything will work out fine._

Really, it was unfair his subconscious was eerily similar to Katie Kate. He got enough judgement from her in person; he didn’t need her in his head too.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened and Clint nearly leaped out of his skin as Bucky’s hand slipped into his own.

“Jumpy much?” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Clint forced his fingers to relax around Bucky’s. “Sorry, forgot,” he whispered, heat rising to his cheeks.

Bucky gave him a worried look, but said nothing as they made their way to the exit. Outside wasn’t much better, but at least Clint could distract himself by looking around the resort.

Napa Valley _was_ beautiful, even if Clint wasn’t a huge wine fan. The warm California weather was perfect and the resort managed to retain a cozy atmosphere despite it being one of the most expensive LGBT couples’ retreats in the country.

If Fury wanted to pay out the nose for Clint and Bucky to pretend to be newlyweds and drink fancy wine, that was on him. Clint would have been just as okay to lurk on rooftops and eat protein bars for the duration of McNabb’s protection detail, but he wasn’t one to say no to free gourmet food.

The pretending to be in love with Bucky thing hit a little too close to home though.

Bucky let go of Clint’s hand and nodded at the cafe, signalling he’d wait out at the table while Clint went to grab the coffees.

That was easier. McNabb and his husband were settling themselves down at one of the tables on the other side of the doorway, talking in hushed tones and smiles and it was all too easy to picture himself and Bucky in their place.

Clint yanked the door open and quickly went inside.

He ordered some fancy Colombian roast, the largest size they had, and a simple espresso for Bucky. Normally he wouldn’t be one to splurge, being happy even drinking instant crap straight out of the pot, but hey, it was Fury’s money.

The barista stared at his ears for a long minute before leaning in close and practically shouting his total at him, enunciating her words awkwardly and dragging out her vowels.

Clint fought the urge to sigh and tell her he could hear her just fine, thanks, and smiled tightly as he handed over the cash. He adjusted his aids self-consciously, running his hand through his hair to cover up the gesture.

Bucky probably would have said something. His usual stoicism went out the window whenever someone made an insensitive comment about Clint’s deafness and he turned into full on Murder Face Winter Soldier. It had at first annoyed Clint – he could fight his own battles when it came to his disability, had for years – but lately it had sent a coil of heat through his belly every time Bucky went into overprotective mode.

Christ, he had it bad.

He fiddled with his phone, sending a quick check in to Nat as he waited for their coffees and ignoring her pointed innuendo about enjoying the honeymoon suite.

Grabbing their coffees when the barista waved obnoxiously in his direction, Clint took them back outside, handing over Bucky’s espresso before collapsing down in his seat.

Bucky grunted his thanks, sipping his drink with a downright pornographic groan.

“Jesus. Go easy on that or you’ll be arrested for public indecency,” Clint huffed, shifting his chair around so he could use the guise of being closer to Bucky while being able to get a better look in Bucky’s blind spots. He brought his own cup to his lips, hoping to use the heat of the drink as an excuse why his face was suddenly flushed.

Bucky kicked him under the table and took another sip – thankfully for Clint’s libido without the porn noises this time.

“S’good coffee, Better than the shit back home.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you drink the last of mine.”

A grin stretched across Bucky’s face and he kicked Clint again. “Says the guy who’d probably make out with the coffee pot if he could.”

Clint kicked him back. “Watch your mouth about that coffee pot, Barnes, she’s my first love.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised. “First?”

Shit.

“First and only,” Clint said quickly, refusing to meet Bucky’s eyes as he chugged more of his coffee and settled in to watch the other resort guests.

McNabb and his husband took their sweet time with their breakfast sandwiches, long enough that Clint was able to finish his coffee and pout at Bucky until he went in to get him a second cup.

A tall woman on the other side of the street watched him curiously and Clint leaned back, flipping his sunglasses down off the top off his head to study her behind their protection. He let his body relax – he was just a man on his honeymoon, after all – and stretched languidly.

Seemingly disinterested, the woman looked away and continued down the street.

A second large Styrofoam cup was set in front of him and Clint sat back up eagerly. He was totally ruining himself for the wine tasting luncheon in a few hours, but he didn’t care. Coffee was _far_ superior to fruity alcohol.

A warm, solid arm wrapped itself around Clint’s shoulder, squeezing briefly as lips brushed his temple.

Clint fought down both the initial instinct to lash out and, upon remembering Bucky, the desire to lean back into the embrace. Biting his tongue, he waited until Bucky sat back down before signing a curt _“what the hell was that?”_

Bucky’s smile was all for show. “Better cut back on the caffeine there, _darling,_ ” he said, patting Clint’s thigh with his metal hand in a subtle warning.

Right. Fake married. Fake honeymoon. Real couples were handsy, open with their affection, and they’d stick out as a major red flag if they didn’t at least attempt to blend in.

All too aware of the weight of Bucky’s hand on his thigh, Clint plastered an equally fake smile on his face and rubbed Bucky’s shoulder. “Can’t help it if you wore me out last night,” he quipped.

His brain caught up to his mouth and the mental voice that sounded like Kate berated him. Yeah, Barton, smooth. Just bring up marathon sex with the dude you’ve been suppressing a boner for over two days. Great plan.

Bucky, thank God, didn’t raise but he did call Clint’s bluff. A downright wicked smirk played across his handsome features and he winked at Clint with a cocky, shit-eating expression that did _things_ to various portions of Clint’s anatomy.

Clint was _fucked._

~*~*~*~

Clint didn’t really understand the point of wine tasting. Sure, some of them were good, but he wasn’t really a “swirl his glass and inhale the aroma” kind of guy so much as he was a “grab the bottle and a straw when there’s nothing better to drink” kind of guy.

He had been hoping the wine would relax him, but he remained wound tighter than a bowstring with Bucky’s constant close proximity and small touches. Twice he’d excused himself to go privately panic in the washroom, splashing cold water across his face and neck in a futile attempt to fight back the constant state of semi-arousal.

Bucky watched him closely as he returned from the washroom for the second time, signing in their shorthand to ask if Clint was okay.

  _“I’m okay,”_ Clint signed back, adding in their signal for ‘all clear.’ _“Just really hot out here.”_

Nodding sympathetically, Bucky gestured to his ponytail with a small smile. _“At least your hair is short,”_ he replied.

Clint appreciated the attempt. He really did. All the gesture really did though, was draw Clint’s attention to the bead of sweat dripping down the back of Bucky’s neck and make Clint want to follow it with his mouth.

Grabbing his wine glass, Clint tossed the last of it back in one go.

The one advantage to being deaf, he supposed, was people tended to talk to whomever he was with rather than Clint himself. The people at their table had smiled politely at him, eyed his hearing aids, and promptly made small talk with Bucky instead. Usually Clint would intervene – he may not have much of a brain-mouth filter but he was a sight better at schmoozing than Bucky was – but he was grateful to be nearly invisible for once.

He had to get a grip. He was in his fucking forties, _far_ from a blushing virgin or horny teenager; why the fuck was Bucky affecting him so badly?

_Because you’re in love with him, you fuckwit,_ came the nagging Kate voice from the back of his mind.

Clint mentally gave his subconscious the finger and shoved it firmly back down.

Bucky’s arm draped over the back of his chair, fingertips brushing Clint’s shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt. The bastard was too good at this, too believable. Had Hydra set him up on missions like this? Have some sadistic handler posing as his wife so they could kill someone?

Somehow, Clint doubted it. The touches were too natural; the Winter Soldier’s actions all fast and clean but all clearly practiced. Bucky’s touches felt organic, a callback to the man he had once been decades ago: a natural flirt and exuding a comfortable confidence in his own sex appeal.

Clint both desperately wanted to experience more of it and wanted it to stop.

The wine settled unpleasantly in his stomach with the coffee and the tiny tasting plates they’d been served. He burped quietly into his hand, closing his eyes at the wave of nausea that rolled through him.

Aw, indigestion, no. Not now. Clint had a job to do and he was already doing a shitty job of watching Bucky’s back when he was too fixated on, well, watching Bucky’s back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice rumbled at his side. “You’re lookin’ kinda green.”

Clint forced a smile. “Fine. Just something I ate not really agreeing with me.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed in concern, fingers rubbing gently at the nape of Clint’s neck. “Do you wanna go back to the hotel?” he asked quietly.

_“I’m not bailing on a mission,”_ Clint signed jerkily.

_“And I don’t want to deal with the attention if you puke all over the table,”_ Bucky returned, eyes narrowing briefly before returning to his previous worried expression.

They stared at each other for a long moment, close enough that Clint could see Bucky’s pupils dilate slightly.

_“Text Nat,”_ Bucky signed, nodding like he had won the goddamn staring contest or something.

Which he definitely hadn’t. Hawkeye didn’t lose staring contests ever.

_“I hate you,”_ Clint replied.

“Okay, yeah,” was what he said aloud, digging in the pocket of his jeans for his burner phone.

Bucky politely excused them, keeping his hand low on Clint’s back as they picked their way around the patio and through the building to the exit. The hand remained in place as they walked back to the hotel, leaving Clint’s stomach in knots and his blood pressure at concerning levels.

Nat texted, telling him they had eyes on McNabb but to hurry up and take a Pepto Bismol because their agent was strictly surveillance only.

 Clint texted back a vomit emoji because he was secretly five years old.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Clint shied away from Bucky’s hand, tossed his sunglasses onto the bed, and dug around in his duffel until he found a bottle of berry flavoured Tums. Popping two in his mouth, he crunched them noisily and shouldered past a frowning Bucky and into the washroom.

He splashed more water on his face and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He was unfit for duty, no question about it. The best he could do to salvage the mission would be to tag Steve in and pray no one at the luncheon had gotten too good of a look at him.

Breathing deeply to try to slow his heart rate, Clint bit the inside of his lip until he tasted blood.

A small, almost timid, knock at the door broke Clint out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts and he groaned softly. He didn’t want to face Bucky. Didn’t want to have to look at him and tell him he needed to bail, to see the scorn on his beautiful face because Clint couldn’t pull his personal shit together enough for a goddamn simple protection detail.

He yanked the door open, trying to school his face into neutrality and failing miserably judging from the look on Bucky’s face.

“Should I be worried?” Bucky asked carefully, eyes dropping briefly to the damp patch on the neck of Clint’s t-shirt where the water had soaked through.

Probably. “No, man, no, I’m… well, not _okay_ okay, but I’ll live,” Clint said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck.

“C’mere,” Bucky said, reaching out to take hold of Clint’s bicep. “Come sit down; you look like shit.”

Clint yanked his arm back with admittedly excessive force. “I got it, Buck. I’m okay.”

He brushed past Bucky, trying not to overthink the look of hurt that briefly flashed through those blue eyes. Collapsing down on the bed, Clint covered his face with his hands.

“You’re gonna need to call in Steve,” he mumbled through his hands, feeling his face flush in embarrassment.

“Come again?”

Clint really wanted to come a first time, which only solidified his decision to tap out.

Groaning, he curled onto his side and pulled the pillow over his head. “I said I’m out. Call Steve in. Get him a pair of hearing aids and some sunglasses and tell him not to stand up so straight. He can be your not-husband.”

“Clint, what the fuck?”

Bucky’s hand seared into Clint’s bare forearm and Clint couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take the one sided sexual tension, couldn’t take the false affection, the teasing of what he couldn’t have.

He lashed out with the pillow, Bucky’s quick reflexes blocking the blow and yanking it away with his vibranium hand. He’d taken the cover and glove off at some point and the black metal gleamed in the early afternoon sunlight.

“Don’t touch me,” Clint rasped, pointing one finger accusingly at Bucky. “Just don’t, man. Please.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as if he’d been physically struck. Another brief flash of pain flickered across his face before he clenched his jaw and nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s whatever, just please. Call Steve in. I’m just… not really mission ready right now.”

Bucky hesitated at the foot of the bed before backing up slowly and sitting down in the desk chair across the room. “You’ve been jumpy since that last stakeout. With me.”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and debated just hiding under the pillow again. Or hurling himself out the window. Whichever.

“I’m sorry,” Clint whispered, face burning in shame.

“No, Clint, it’s not your fault,” Bucky said, hurt creeping into his voice. “I wouldn’t trust me either. Not after everything I’ve done.”

Wait what?

Clint must’ve said that out loud because Bucky shrugged one shoulder, eyes fixated on a spot on the wall above Clint’s head. He picked at one of the dangling threads on the ripped knee of his jeans and transferred his gaze to the floor.

“I wouldn’t trust me,” Bucky repeated. “Hell, half the time I don’t trust myself. I’ve just felt… normal, I guess. Around you. You’re the first real pal I’ve had here. If I thought I was gonna put you in danger, man, I dunno what I’d do. I couldn’t live with that.”

Clint’s brain hit the blue screen of death and he blinked stupidly at Bucky for longer than was probably appropriate.

Still refusing to look at him, Bucky stood, digging his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’m sorry. For everything I did that made you uncomfortable. I’ll just call Steve.”

Clint’s heart started racing again, guilt crashing into him. This was _Clint’s_ fucking problem, Clint’s stupid attraction and feelings he wasn’t supposed to have. And now he’d gone and fucked it up even more.

“I’m fucking in love with you, you fuckwit.”

The words left Clint’s mouth before he could stop them and he stared in horror at Bucky.

Bucky’s expression would have been hilarious under literally _any_ other circumstances. His eyes were comically wide, mouth opening and shutting like a fish gasping for air.

“You… did you just call me a _fuckwit?_ ”

Clint hesitated, eyes darting to the door and judging the distance from the bed. “That’s what you’re choosing to get out of that? Really, Barnes?”

“Kinda still processing that first part.”

“Great,” Clint snapped, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Process away. Or, rather, don’t, because let’s never talk about it ever again. I won’t make shit weird, I promise.” He strode toward the door, jaw clenched. “Call Steve. I’ll just wait downstairs until he comes in.”

Stupid, _stupid_ Barton.

Bucky reached out and grabbed his wrist, the metal of his hand just as warm as the other one and that knowledge sent a shiver down Clint’s spine.

“Wait, Clint, leave if you need to, but please.” Bucky took a ragged breath, eyes looking as haunted as Clint had ever seen them. “Do you trust me?”

Clint swallowed, guilt at making Bucky doubt himself weighing heavily on his heart. “Of course, man. That wasn’t ever in question. You’re stronger than any of us, Buck – going through what you did and not being a gibbering mess?” He huffed a small laugh, ducking his head. “If anyone’s gonna watch my back other than Nat, I want it to be you.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and for a second Clint thought he was going to hit him. Flinching backwards, Clint found himself wrapped in the strong embrace of the former Winter Soldier.

“Bucky?” Clint managed, awkwardly reaching up and then putting his arms stiffly at his side. Just a slight turn of his head and his nose would be buried in Bucky’s hair and – no. Bad Clint.

“It’s a hug, moron,” Bucky said, voice muffled by Clint’s shoulder, the warmth of his breath sending goosebumps down Clint’s neck. “You’re kinda supposed to hug back.”

If Clint hugged him, he was never gonna let go. He closed his eyes, feeling Bucky pull away slowly.

“Clint. Open your eyes for me?”

Clint let out a strangled whine and peeked open one eye. He’d already fucked up both revealing his stupid feelings _and_ his dramatic exit, might as well humour Bucky.

Bucky’s hands shook as he brought them up, fingers folding into the unmistakeable sign that had Clint’s heart threaten to pound through his chest.

Licking his lips, Clint stared at Bucky’s hands, the sign translating in his head but not registering. “That’s… that’s not the right sign for ‘rock on,’ man,” he rasped.

“Christ you’re an idiot,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head and reaching out and wrapping his hands around the back of Clint’s neck and skull, pulling him into a kiss.

True to form, Clint’s body reacted and responded eagerly even as his brain struggled to comprehend what was happening. His arms slid around Bucky’s waist, pulling him close and nibbling gently at that plush bottom lip he’d been fascinated with for far too long.

Bucky let out a quiet noise in the back of his throat, spurring Clint on. Walking Bucky backwards, Clint pressed him into the wall and swept his tongue across his lips, urging them open.

Fingers clenched into the back of Clint’s skull, tugging at his hair. Bucky wedged a thigh between Clint’s, rolling his hips in a deliberate motion as if to try and remove any doubt in Clint’s mind that this was very much welcomed.

“Idiot,” Bucky breathed into Clint’s mouth as he pulled back with a small smile.

Clint rested his forehead against Bucky’s, looking down into amused blue eyes. “You’re the one kissing an idiot.”

“Would rather be doing other things to an idiot.”

Clint let out a guttural moan as Bucky rolled his hips again, the hard line of him easily felt through the threadbare denim.  

“Wait, wait,” Clint said, pulling back as Bucky leaned in to kiss him again despite every part of his body screaming at him. “Show me. Show me again.”

Leaving his metal hand on Clint’s nape, Bucky signed again and pressed his hand into Clint’s chest as if he could brand the sign onto him. He licked his lips almost shyly, eyes never leaving Clint’s.

“I love you too,” Bucky affirmed, his voice steadier than Clint’s had been. He pressed his lips to Clint’s throat, tongue flicking over the pulse point. “Fuckwit.”

Laughter turning into a groan, Clint tilted his head back to give Bucky better access. Arousal seared through his veins, setting his nerves alight. He was dreaming, right? This was as dream.

“I can’t believe I’m having to tell _you_ , of all people, to stop thinking, but stop thinking,” Bucky murmured against his skin, a flash of teeth mixing into the open-mouthed kisses and making Clint whimper.

Clint lifted one hand up to cradle Bucky’s face, tilting his head up so he could plunder his mouth once more. His body moved on autopilot, one hand slipping under the hem of Bucky’s obnoxiously tight t-shirt and exploring the muscles of his lower back while the other curled around the back of his neck to keep him close.

The kiss deepened as Clint licked into Bucky’s mouth, desperate for more. Bucky gave as good as he got, chasing after Clint’s tongue, their teeth clicking together as they both tried to get even closer.

Clint cried out, turning his head to gasp for oxygen as their hips found a frantic, rocking rhythm. “Buck,” he bit out, panting harshly as Bucky’s lips brushed against the scars around his right ear, ghosting over them and the disfigured cartilage almost reverently.

“Is this too much?” Bucky’s voice was quiet enough by his aid that it didn’t send it into conniptions and Clint let out a full-bodied shudder.

He wasn’t self-conscious about any of his other scars; the lines from surgeries and twisted shapes from bullet wounds along with a hundred other scrapes and scratches told the story of Hawkeye and he accepted all of them. His ears though, those had always been a source of shame, both as a child when they remained visibly intact and in their current ragged state. The Clown’s arrows had done their damage externally as a constant visual reminder of his disability and Clint hated them.

Bucky nuzzled just under Clint’s ear for a moment before moving his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He scratched at Clint’s temples, gently encouraging him to look.

“They’re a sign they didn’t beat you,” Bucky said hoarsely. He took one of Clint’s hands in his own and guided it to his chest, tracing Clint’s fingers along the seam of scar tissue that connected flesh and metal.

Clint’s hand trembled slightly as he touched Bucky’s skin, gently running his fingertips along the ridge of flesh. The gesture was shockingly intimate and Clint blinked rapidly to clear his suddenly watering eyes. 

“Hey, hey, Clint, look at me,” Bucky said softly. “We can stop. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Clint barked out a laugh. He kissed Bucky, letting his hands roam across the muscular torso. “Shit, sorry, I don’t know why I get like this. I want, Buck. I very much want. Anything. Everything.”

Bucky smiled brilliantly, the happiness reaching his eyes in a way Clint hadn’t seen before. “Me too, pal. Everything. Just, uh, don’t start cryin’ on me, you’ll give a guy a complex.”

“Naw, I’m good, I promise,” Clint replied, scrubbing his eyes with one hand for a second before pulling his own shirt off. “Just something in my eye, s’all.”

He pushed Bucky back against the wall, his dick getting back with the program as their bare chests pressed together. The contrast of vibranium against his skin was far more enticing than Clint had thought it would be and he dropped kisses along the juncture of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, moving across the skin, over the scar tissue, and onto the metal itself.

Bucky was delightfully responsive, his hips bucking into Clint’s and breaths coming in needy gasps and moans as Clint made his way down the tanned expanse of chest. He had to be constantly touching Clint, his hands moving in abstract patterns across Clint’s back and abdomen before settling in his hair as Clint fell to his knees in front of him.

Settling his hands on either side of Bucky’s hips, Clint looked up at him, drinking in the flush that reached from chest to cheekbones. He groaned in the back of his throat as he licked a trail down Bucky’s abs, giving into the desire he’d had since that morning.

Bucky’s fingers tightened in his hair as Clint nosed at his denim-covered erection, his panting becoming ragged.

Clint slid one hand down the threadbare inseam of Bucky’s leg, only marginally jealous that Bucky’s thighs filled out the jeans better than Clint’s ever had. He dipped the fingers of his other hand into the waistband, mouth hovering over the bulge in front of his face.

“Buck… Can I?” Clint asked, desperate for his mouth to be around him.

Bucky scratched at Clint’s scalp, metal fingers trailing gently along his cheek before nodding. “Yeah, Clint, shit. Yeah, _please._ ”

The button fly was clearly invented by a sadist and Clint cursed under his breath as he brought his other hand up to fumble with the stupid jeans. He had never had an issue getting them open, there was no reason it should have been that difficult on the other side of them.

“Do you need some – _fuck!_ ” Bucky’s amused tone turned into a moan as Clint managed to get the jeans open and pulled them down with the briefs in one go, wrapping his lips around the head of Bucky’s cock as he did so.

Clint slid his hands up to palm Bucky’s ass, squeezing lightly as he worked his tongue around the heavy cock in his mouth. He wrapped one hand around the base, stroking in sync with his mouth.

He glanced up at Bucky, humming around the head of his cock and sucking him down. It took him a second to relax his throat, suppressing his gag reflex, and he winked impishly as Bucky met his gaze before sliding down as far his anatomy would let him.

“Christ, fuck,” Bucky gasped, his words blurring between curses and heavy moans. “I’m not gonna last, Clint, fuck.”

Clint pulled off his cock with a loud pop, stroking him firmly with his hand. “I mean, I spent the entire night worrying I was gonna come in my pants like a teenager because you were sleeping next to me, so no judgement.”

Bucky laughed weakly, chest heaving as Clint licked a stripe from base to tip, tongue playing with his foreskin. He stared down at Clint in awe, blue eyes filled with heat. “You gonna come in your pants now?”

Letting out a quiet whine, Clint reluctantly moved his hand off Bucky’s ass to thumb open his own jeans. He held Bucky’s gaze, matching him in intensity as he pulled his own cock out and stroked it.

Clint let the head of Bucky’s cock bulge obscenely into cheek on the down stroke and swirled his tongue around the head as he slid back up with a wet noise, throwing in every little trick he knew to drive Bucky insane.

“Clint, I’m gonna,” Bucky warned, tugging at Clint’s hair almost painfully before he seemed to remember his strength.

_“Come,”_ Clint signed, followed by a thumbs up, before dropping his hand back to his own dick.

Bucky threw his head back, crying out in quick staccato notes as he came. The muscles in his abdomen contracted beautifully and he held Clint’s head firmly in place as Clint swallowed around him.

Clint sucked him gently through the aftershocks, a few droplets of stray come and saliva dripping out of his mouth as he pulled back slowly. He greedily drank in the visual above him, committing every gasp and twitch to memory. His dreams were _nothing_ compared to the real thing.

Gently pulling him off his softening cock with a small groan of effort, Bucky pulled Clint back to his feet and rested his sweat-drenched forehead against Clint’s.

“You, uh, you got a little…” Bucky swiped at the corner of Clint’s mouth with the thumb of his right hand.

Going slightly cross eyed, Clint looked down at Bucky’s thumb and sucked it into his mouth, closing his eyes.

Bucky swore, possibly in Russian, and tugged Clint’s face close for a long, deep kiss, his tongue sweeping along Clint’s mouth and groaning softly.

Clint jumped a little as a warm hand closed around his cock and he sank his teeth appreciatively into Bucky’s lower lip. He was close, had been riding that razor’s edge for the past day and a half and now he eagerly pressed himself into the heat of Bucky’s hand.

“You gonna come for me?” Bucky panted into Clint’s mouth, setting a brutal pace with his stroking. “C’mon, sweetheart. Wanna feel you. Come for me, Clint.”

Usually Clint wasn’t so great with following orders but this time he was happy to oblige. He ducked his face into Bucky’s neck, hips jerking forward as he came all over Bucky’s hand and stomach, vision nearly whiting out as his orgasm hit him like a train.

Bucky’s heavy breathing into his aids brought him back to reality and he reluctantly pulled back with a soft press of his lips against Bucky’s throat.

“I love you,” Bucky rumbled, a worried look haunting his eyes as if their previous sexcapades had somehow made Clint decide ‘nah, nevermind.’

Clint kissed him, first on the forehead and then on the lips. “I love you too,” he whispered, a familiar stinging starting at his eyes once more. “Aw, emotions, no,” he muttered, wiping his forearm across his eyes in frustration.

Bucky laughed, a low genuine sound that was practically music in Clint’s mind. “We really should clean up,” he said regretfully. “Agent Dobson is watching McNabb but if shit hits the fan we need to be out there.”

“Agent who?” Clint asked, blinking in confusion, his pants and boxers still around his ankles as Bucky stepped out of his and moved toward the washroom.

“Anna Dobson. Tall, dark hair, thinks you’re incompetent.”

“To be fair, over half of Fury’s agents think I’m incompetent,” Clint pointed out.

_Oh_. The woman from earlier at the café who had been watching Clint. She was the agent Nat had mentioned as their second set of eyes in the field.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he poked his head out from the washroom doorway, his hair loose from his ponytail and framing his face in a way that featured in at least eighty five percent of Clint’s fantasies.

“And the sooner you get in the fuckin’ shower with me and we get back out there, the sooner you can prove them wrong.”

Clint didn’t need to be told twice. He nearly faceplanted as he tripped over his jeans and underwear in his haste to get to Bucky, arms windmilling before Bucky’s strong arms caught him.

“You’re a goddamn mess, Barton,” Bucky said gruffly, the affection in his eyes belying the tone in his voice.

Grinning, Clint waggled his eyebrows at him. “You made half this mess. You better clean me up.”

Heat rose once more into Bucky’s gaze and Clint felt like he was a buffet table.

“Honeymoon suite _does_ have that fancy showerhead.”

Clint’s stamina was no match for a super soldier, but he was sure he could probably get Bucky through round two with enough time to spare that Nat wouldn’t be _totally_ suspicious.

It’d be a waste of a honeymoon suite to not use all the amenities as much as possible, after all.

 

 


End file.
